


Narcotic

by Davechicken



Series: Kylux - Fluff & Angst [28]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Injury, M/M, Masochism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 05:32:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8150837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Kylo doesn't understand 'bed rest'.





	1. Chapter 1

_Thrust, parry, block, twirl._ He steps into form, into stance. Twistturnbendjumpslam. The patterns are there in the galaxy, like holes he’s supposed to flow to fill. Like water finding cracks and crevasse, like grains following migration set by axis-spin and body-pull. 

The Force says _go_ , and so he does.

Or… normally does.

Today he can’t seem to reach to fit, like the glass of water he is has been gulped at, half-emptied. Like there’s less of him to fill things, and his reach and his speed are both hampered.

 _Pain is supposed to be power. Power is the Force. Power is the_ way _._

It’s a gift, not a punishment. It flares his sense of self brighter, makes him more aware of where _he_ is, as opposed to where _everything not-him_ is.

But today, it’s not working. The pain is there, but he’s struggling to use it. It’s supposed to _power him_ , and he slides and glides against it, raking his muscles until they almost tear, biting his lip until his jaw pulses. It isn’t **working** and he can’t understand, because he has _never_ been more aware of himself, and now he’s feeling smaller. Feet and inches smaller. Weaker.

 _Weaker_.

Panic, and he hurls himself through the air, using the fear as the last bit of passion required to make him–

His knee gives under him on the landing, going _out_ when it should stay _in,_ and he grunts in frustration as he clatters, graceless, to the floor of the training room. 

“What are you _doing_?”  


“None of your business,” Kylo cuts from his tongue, hurling the words out as he launches to his feet. He hadn’t sensed the other’s approach, and his face blazes with shame.  


“Ren… you’re _bleeding_.”  


“Yes?”  


He stands, pulled erect like a string curls around his spine, holding him aloft. _Pride_ is what elevates him, when pain alone cannot.

“You’re… Kylo, what the _hell_ are you thinking? You need to report to the med bay!”  


“I’m fine.”  


“You’re _exsanguinating_.”  


Which is just a posher way of saying ‘bleeding out’, and he’s already said that once. Kylo presses a hand on his side, making the pain fl– what the fuck is Hux doing?

“I’m going to need a medical droid to the– Ren, let GO!”  


“I don’t need a medic!”  


“You need a medic _and_ a shrink, you ridiculous masochist. What are you even taking? Did they give you narcotics that send you– _are you even taking analgesics_?”  


Kylo shrugs. He doesn’t need them. “I’m training.”

“You’re trying to _kill yourself_.”  


“Please, if I wanted to die, I’d **die**.” He might make some mistakes, but he’s fairly sure he could successfully end his own life, and… now Hux is slapping a hand to his forehead.  


“You’re _burning up_. For Moff’s sake, Kylo… this isn’t healthy.”  


“The Force sust– _mmmffff!”_  


Kylo tries to lick the hand that covers his mouth, and growls into it when it doesn’t move. 

“You. Are going. To. The med. Bay. And then you are going to find yourself sedated and strapped to a bed if you resist again. You can’t whammy the droids.”  


No! No… he staggers back, the concept utterly _violating._ “Hux, no…”

“Then… are you going to let me put you under quarters quarantine?”  


“I’m not even–”  


Hux looks so fucking _worried_ then, that Kylo wonders if he’s missed something? He looks down at his bloodied clothes, and doesn’t see what Hux does. Doesn’t see why he should stop. Doesn’t…

“Just… for me?” Hux wheedles. “I’ll even work from bed, if you’ll stay in it.”  


He doesn’t even mean in a sexy way, does he? Shit, if Hux is _that_ worried, maybe he is ill? The door opens, and a droid floats in. He nods very minutely, and allows it to do the basic tests on him. He’s not… is he that ill? Really?

Hux is convinced. Kylo doesn’t think _he_ can be convinced. 

Still. He lets himself be shepherded to bed, cowed into obedience by the overwhelming waves of fear from Hux. 

It’s… nothing. Really.

If Hux thinks this is bad, it’s a good job they didn’t become intimate until long, long after his name became Kylo - _Master_ \- of the Knights of Ren. He’s still fighting isn’t he?

Yeah. So it can’t be that bad.

It’s only bad if you die. _Then_ you can’t get up to fight some more. Until then, everything goes.


	2. Chapter 2

Hux doesn’t know if he should scream at Kylo, or pity him. Really. The man is a menace, and he’s going to get himself killed sooner than his body is ready for. (Or Hux is ready for, either.)

With no small amount of cajoling, he’s pushed into bed and his bandages are changed. Bacta patches, and a small, regimented squadron of pills with their patterns of doseage sit on the table alongside. Pain meds, antibiotics, fresh dressings, and (if needed) sedatives. Hux takes in the medical droid’s instructions, even as Kylo blusters that none of this is needed. 

He’s running a damn temperature, he can’t walk straight, and if it wasn’t for the fact that the infection came _second_ , he’d blame that. The man was ridiculous even before the fever. 

Hux does not like being around illness. It’s a sign of weakness, it’s ineffective, and it’s disgusting. 

But he’s in love with this overgrown baby, for better or worse, and that means he’s sitting on top of the covers to nanny him. Kylo is reluctantly tucked in so he can’t wiggle too much, and has a glass of fortified juice and some crackers to one side. 

(Please don’t get crumbs in bed, Hux thinks. Please.)

He keeps glancing to the side to make sure the man is still sleeping it off, and occasionally feeling for his temperature as subtly as he can. Kylo whimpers in his sleep, and starts to thrash. 

“Shhhhhh,” he soothes, rocking his shoulder gently. “It’s okay.”

Worried, dazed eyes glance up at him. “Huh?”

He pushes Kylo’s hair back (sticky) and kisses his temple (sweaty). “Can you manage more meds?”

Kylo pauses, then nods. 

Hux grabs the small row of things, and starts the process of dosing him. The Knight mumbles and begs for touches without words. He’s slowly warming to being cared for, and it hurts to see how long this has been going on. 

He’s starting to understand the scars that trace Kylo’s skin. Guilt and anger prick deep down inside, and he vows he’ll take better care of him in future. 

He might not care, but Hux does.


End file.
